


vertigo

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [15]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bombs, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, febuwhump 2020, lol, still trucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: “Found it,” Peter whispers into his comms.He’s not sure why he’s whispering. It’s not like talking will disturb the bomb. At least he doesn’t think so.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 17
Kudos: 317





	vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> Happy April! What a crazy year March was, huh? 
> 
> Febuwhump Day 15: Hearing Loss

“Found it,” Peter whispers into his comms.

He’s not sure why he’s whispering. It’s not like talking will disturb the bomb. At least he doesn’t think so.

“What are we looking at Spider—“

Tony’s voice cuts in, rising over Steve’s. “Do you see a way for us to disable it?” 

“Um.” Peter takes a few hesitant steps closer. “There’s a timer—you know, like in the movies. And some wires. I’m not sure exactly—“

“What does the timer say?”

He looks at it again to confirm what he thought he saw. The numbers blink at him, red and definite. “Well. You’re uh, you’re not going to like it.”

“What does it say, Peter?”

“37 seconds.”

There’s a curse that’s cut off halfway through as the comms fall silent—which means that they’re trying to plan something without Peter’s input. He sighs and taps his foot in time with the tick of the seconds counting down and formulates a plan of his own.

His earpiece crackles and then Tony’s voice filters through the airways. “Alright, kid, get out of there. Widow found you a quick escape route, turn right down the hallway, first room on the left. There’s a window—“

“Mr—I mean, Iron Man, the building is going to blow up if I leave!”

“That was an order, son,” Steve says. “The building has been evacuated and we're working on clearing the surrounding blocks. You need to retreat.”

Peter shakes his head even though they can’t see them. The word ‘retreat’ rubs him the wrong way. Spider-Man doesn’t retreat, especially not when people could be danger. He glances out the window, sees Hawkeye ushering people down the streets below. There's no way they're going to get everyone out of the block before this goes off.

“Hey, Mr. Stark? Remember the webs I was working on? They’re really dense. Heavy-duty stuff. I’m going to try to—“

“Peter. Now is not the time.”

“I’m just going to put a few over it then I’ll leave. What’s the harm in that?”

“The harm is that you’re running out of time!”

“Spider-Man—“

Peter turns the comms off. He knows that Tony will override the action soon enough, but he only needs a few moments of silence. He only has—quick glance at the clock—six seconds to work with anyway. He winces. That’s less time than he thought.

He raises his hands and starts shooting his newest variation of web fluid over the bomb. It’s thick, creating a wide layer after only a few _thwips_ from his wrists. The last number he sees before the display is obscured completely is 'four'. He tries to keep a count in his head, not too fast or too slow, but it’s hard. Especially when his heart-beat feels so fast and so loud, vibrating through his ribcage and somehow his skull as well.

_Three_ —there’s another bout of crackling in his earpiece and then he hears Tony’s voice starting to fade in and out as he reconnects to Peter’s suit.

_Two_ —one last web and he starts scrambling backward, then half turns, prepared to dive out of the door.

_One—_ so his count was a little off. There’s a _pop_ behind him. It's exactly like the sound of a cap exploding off an empty plastic water bottle after twisting it enough. If he knew what that sounded like, that is. It's definitely not how the picture frame in Ned's living room shattered the summer between fourth and fifth grade. 

He turns around. Nothing has changed drastically. There’s a red circular glow shining through part of the web, but it doesn't seem to be melting.

He can’t hold back a smirk. “It’s working.”

“Peter, I swear to—I don’t know—Thor, if you don’t get out of that building right now, I’ll make sure that May never lets you leave—“

Another pop, this one louder, fills the room. Peter flinches and takes a few steps away from the bomb. There’s a second circle-shaped glow.

“What was that?”

“The bomb—my webs are holding it, though, don’t worry.”

“That’s it. I’m coming in to get you and then I’m going to make sure you’re grounded until the day that I die. Then trying to stop you from getting yourself killed won’t be my problem anymore.” There’s a pause and then, “Though, I suppose if I end up down south, my punishment will be to watch as it happens.”

Peter frowns as he tries to work through the words in his head. In a weird way, it's kind of sweet that watching him die is Tony's version of a personal Hell.

“Calm down, Mr. Stark. I’m on my way.”

He starts to leave. He only stops because another pop fills the room, followed by a snap that reverberates through his teeth.

“Uh oh,” he mumbles.

“Uh oh!?”

Peter glances over his shoulder. One of the glowing circles is now a hole. There are pieces of webbing stuck to the ceiling above it. 

He stretches out an arm to try to web over the opening, but then the base of his skull sends a jolt down his spine. He dives toward the exit instead.

The blast that follows is nothing like the series of pops before it. It’s all-encompassing, so loud that it hurts. He ducks his head between his arms. Then he’s flying through the air. He twists around in whatever direction his instincts tell him to and shoots a few webs in vain. Then he’s falling. He thinks he might scream. He hopes he doesn’t—not with half the Avengers listening in on the comms. That would be embarrassing.

When it’s over, all that’s left is ringing, a high-pitched whine with staticky edges. He shakes his head and the noise distorts for a moment before returning to the original tone.

He rolls onto his back and blinks. All around him is dark until his eyes adjust and then there's gray rubble as far as he can see. It’s on each of his sides, a few pieces on top of his legs. Thankfully, there’s a beam propped above him, creating a little space to keep him from being entirely crushed. He sends a little 'thank you' to the spider that bit him, for the sixth sense that's probably the only reason he hasn't been reduced to two dimensions. Although, he wouldn't have been anywhere near a bomb if it hadn't been for that same spider.

He tries to push himself up into a sitting position, but the motion makes the ringing ramp up to screeching. The little pocket of space that he’s in lurches back and forth and then starts rotating. He clamps his hands over his ears and closes his eyes. 

When the dizziness fades and the noise dials back down to a less jarring pitch, he removes his hands slowly, cracks his eyes open. He reaches forward without moving his head and starts pushing the debris off his legs. 

Once enough pieces are gone, he draws his knees upward to his chest and dips his head forward slowly onto them. Even the slight movement sends the room spinning again. He groans and swallows down the bile threatening to rise up his throat.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, praying that his comms are still working. 

He knows he speaks. He can feel the vibrations in his mouth and throat and he can kind of hear his voice in his head—or maybe it’s his imagination. Out loud, he can only hear the ringing.

“Mr. Stark,” he tries again.

It’s the same. He opens his mouth as wide as he can as if he’s on an airplane, trying to get his ears to pop. It just makes them hurt.

He stands, unsteady, reaching out for the side of his little bubble, staggering over until he’s leaning his full weight onto the side. He stays as still as possible until the vertigo eases.

It’s hard to take stock of the rest of his body with all his focus centralized in his head. He thinks bruises and small lacerations are the worst of it, his legs bearing the brunt from where the rubble hit them. 

He feels along the wall until he gets an outline of one of the pieces of debris. He slips his hands under it, trying to find a grip to see if he can claw his way to the surface.

“Karen,” he says. “What are the chances this all comes crumbling down around me if I pull this rock?”

There’s no answer, just the incessant ringing. Peter groans and shakes his head.

The space tilts and he finds himself on his hands and knees, gravel digging into them. The floor looks wavy. His stomach twists with it.

He decides it’s best not to move.

* * *

Peter doesn’t hear when the rubble starts to shift. He’s alerted by a quick warning ping where his neck meets his hairline.

He raises his head in slow, smooth increments, trying to minimize pain and dizziness. By the time it's risen enough for him to see, there’s an Iron Man suit crouching in front of him. Multiple pairs of legs crowd the space behind the suit—blue, black, and gray spandex.

“Mr. Stark,” he says. “Something’s wrong.”

The ever present tone is his only company. A part of him wonders if Tony can hear it, too. The more rational bit knows it’s just in his head. It’s all tied together—the vertigo, the ringing, the lack of other sound. He just doesn’t want to think about it, wants there to be some other explanation.

After a few seconds of nothing, the helmet of Tony’s suit flicks down. His mouth is moving. Peter only manages to recognize the shape of his name.

“I can’t hear you.” He almost shakes his head again but stops himself at the last second. “I should have listened before. I’m sorry.”

Tony’s lips start moving again. Then he winces and closes them, reaching out and patting Peter’s shoulder uncertainly instead.

One of the other Avengers must speak because Tony’s head swivels toward them, frown lines deepening. He stands and holds a hand out, quirking his eyebrows.

Peter reaches up and clasps it. Tony hauls him to his feet. 

One second he’s looking at Tony’s face, the next, the ground is pitching toward him as the spinning picks up pace once again. Steady hands come up to his shoulders, anchoring him in place. The floor snaps back to where it belongs.

Tony’s mouth is moving again. Peter doesn’t even try to read it, electing to close his eyes instead. It doesn’t stop the spinning.

“Really dizzy,” he mumbles.

He feels his feet leave the ground a moment later. At first, he’s certain that it’s a product of the vertigo. He’s fallen over again and he’s about to crash to the ground.

The crash never comes. He realizes there’s something under his legs, holding them up—under his back, too. In between waves of dizziness, he blinks his eyes open.

He’s looking up at Tony from under his chin, carried in his arms—like a baby, but he’ll worry about that blow to his ego later.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

Tony looks down, crinkles softening his eyes. 

He says something that Peter’s pretty sure ends in ‘okay’. He can’t tell whether it’s a question or a statement of fact. Either way, he agrees. Tony tends to make sure that things work out alright for him. Even when he acts stupid and stubborn and nearly gets himself blown up.

“Okay,” he repeats. He leans his head against the shoulder of Tony’s armor and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> [Me](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com) 🤝 Marvel  
> dropping buildings on Peter Parker


End file.
